The Unknown, prt I

Hearken now, weary souls
Or ignore this blasphemy
Do as you wish
Fate can no longer see
A bleak portrait I sell
If blind Fate is not unkind
No epic deeds revealed
No treasure of the mind

A sorry man-childe
The object of these words
Insignificant in his gifts
His path much obscured
But listen if you would
Discover for they self
No kings nor demigods
No tale of moral wealth

Thus begins mine speech
A soldier seeking death
When he need look no farther
Than just behind his breath
Besides the gods' ignorance
Of his fateful deed
The beginning of the end
Which his birth did breed


I


Unremembered they name him
He who has no past
His arms not too strong
His legs not so fast
The only thing about him
This soldier-blade for sale
Twin orbs all seeing,
Eyes as bright as hale

No enemy truly feared him
Even at their end
Amongst even his followers
No fellow truly a friend
But when those pale orbs darken
Everything before them a-fear
Every soul shall tremble
As though their flesh did sear

He did this not a-purpose
It being far beyond control
Since ever after such rage
He suffered a horrid toll
So, on the brink of madness,
Taking over all his mind,
He blasphemes the gods
Words neither subtle nor sublime
Still they take no notice
Angering him all the more
He searches for the end
Such madness that he bore

Across the fearful sea
He traveled on and on
With only one score of blades
Trusting speed above brawn
This score and one landed
Upon a desolate shore
None would see their homes
Or families evermore

Through sun-baked desert
This company did prevail
Led by this stranger
With eyes as bright as hale
Every city they did encounter
After their own great defeat
Paid tribute to these men
With gold and with meat
A hundred nations fallen
Never quenching one man's desire
And so fell from power
Only adding fuel to his fire

And so this company of lords
Who began as fit young men
Ended their days of conquest
Each living a mortal span times ten
But even as they faded
And now forgot by time
Still their leader wandered
Holding to no reason nor any rhyme

Surely now those gods
Whose names he had cursed
Had gifted him with life
Their spite at its worst
"Untrue." declared the nameless
"still the bastards sleep!
They care not how many die
Nor hear the widow weep."

Day by day he struggled
Inch by inch he moved
Traveling the world
His stony heart never soothed
And so he continued
As this story surely should
But I cannot go on
Even if I would